


East of the Sun

by sunstarunicorn



Series: It's a Magical Flashpoint [29]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Flashpoint (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Old Magic Rising, Squib rights, Uncovered Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-08 14:16:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15245193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstarunicorn/pseuds/sunstarunicorn
Summary: They saved both worlds from open war, but Wordy may end up paying the price as Lucius Malfoy charges him with line theft and magical manipulation.  With no magic of his own and the revelations of his heritage sending shockwaves through his team, Wordy’s on his own…or is he?





	1. The Loneliest Number

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the twenty-ninth in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows "West of the Moon".
> 
> Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own _Flashpoint_ , _Harry Potter_ , _Narnia_ , or _Merlin_.

_Previously_

The explosion roared like nothing Roy had ever heard before, not from a movie and not on the job. A second explosion followed the first, a shockwave of sound and thunder that pounded at both men, echoing into the night. Debris rained down around them, deflected by Onasi’s hasty shield spell. Around them, the grass lit, fire glowing an instant before going out. Roy’s ears rang as he pushed himself up, staring in shock at the building – or rather, what was _left_ of it. Fire raged in the shell, licking at the jutting timbers and jagged walls.

* * * * *

As the world blurred around the Narnian Knights, gunshots rang out and they saw the Unspeakable fall. Several bullets also flew through where the Knights were standing, but Time itself had already pulled them away. When the blurring stopped, the Knights found themselves in the men’s locker room at SRU Headquarters.

* * * * *

Submachine guns came up over the barricade, their owners checking their aim for the briefest of moments before opening fire. In less than twenty seconds, it was done; the Death Eaters were down and the last of the threat to _both_ worlds halted in its tracks. Team One moved, Wordy and Sam taking down the barricade to let their teammates through and the rest of the team heading down the stairs with yells of, “SRU! Don’t move!” and “Weapons on the ground!”

* * * * *

Lord Malfoy’s smile was so triumphant and cruel that Greg felt his heart sink in dread. “So… _you_ are the new Head of the House of _Lestrange_.” Lord Malfoy leaned in, his eyes dancing with anticipation. “According to your records, you are nothing more than a _Squib_. A Squib, such as yourself, _cannot_ be the Head of a _magical_ family. As the _legitimate_ proxy for the House of _Lestrange_ , I charge you with line theft, Kevin _Lestrange!_ ”

* * * * *

_Now_

_The day I end up working with a_ Lestrange _is the day I turn in my badge,_ Miss _Skeeter!_

What a way to eat his words, even if Skeeter didn’t remember him saying them. Giles felt his jaw drop in shock and horror. Wordy…a Lestrange? No way, no how…it was _impossible_. Everyone knew who the Lestranges were, what the Lestranges had done. Except…Wordy wasn’t arguing, wasn’t protesting…

“ _Wordsworth_ ,” Wordy snapped, his shoulders bunching with fury. “Not,” he sneered right back at the arrogant aristocrat, “ _Lestrange_.” Teeth flashed in a parody of a grin. “I changed the family name, remember?”

_What? He…_ is _a Lestrange?_

* * * * *

_“The Lestranges are their closest remaining_ blood _relatives…”_

_“Unfortunately, without_ you _and your, shall we say,_ preeminent _blood claim, the Heirs Calvin are left vulnerable to the same elements that made them orphans.”_

Greg reeled in shock, the idea that _Wordy_ was not only _related_ to the kids, but was closer to them than _he_ was…it hurt, felt like an almost physical blow. What was even worse was that neither Wordy _nor_ the kids looked surprised, just angry at the pale haired aristocrat.

“The names of families cannot be changed on a _whim_ ,” Lord Malfoy observed silkily.

“And it wasn’t,” Wordy snapped. “As I’m _sure_ you _already_ know; my family name was changed _magically_ , after I took Headship.” The husky constable stepped forward, deliberately getting in Lord Malfoy’s personal space. “Since you’re a member of the Wizengamot, you should already know that both my Headship and my family name change were certified by Gringotts.”

Another ripple of shock ran around the room.

* * * * *

_“Hey, Ed, you want to come in and meet my family’s new proxy?”_

_“Since when does your family have a proxy?”_

_A verbal shrug. “Has to do with the inheritance test I had Claire take right after everything with that louse, Anderson.”_

Oh. _“I’ll be right there, Wordy.”_

Proxy. He’d had all the pieces, but he hadn’t put them together…hadn’t realized that his best friend was suddenly up to his neck in British magical politics. For crying out loud, he’d even _met_ Lord Neville Longbottom, Wordy’s new family proxy.

Lord Malfoy didn’t even twitch. “Indeed,” he agreed, “The documents submitted to the Wizengamot _were_ certified by Gringotts. However,” his gaze raked the constable. “Given your _clearly_ documented status as a _Squib_ , it is _impossible_ that you could take the Headship of the House of _Lestrange_ legally. Only a _wizard_ may take the Headship of a magical family.”

* * * * *

_“Hey, Sam?”_

_Sam looked up at his teammate, surprised by how uncertain Wordy looked. “What’s up, Wordy?”_

_Wordy shifted, still uncertain, but plunging forward. “We, uh, we took Claire to get an inheritance test at Gringotts.”_

_The sniper’s brows hiked and then he realized where Wordy was going. “You?”_

_“Both of us, actually,” Wordy admitted. “But, um, turns out my family doesn’t exactly have the best reputation.”_

Well, that was _one_ way to put it, Sam decided, struggling to keep from gaping. He knew, better than the rest of Team One, what the history of the Wizarding Wars was, knew what the Lestranges had done. Wordy was…a _Lestrange_?

“Therefore,” Lord Malfoy continued, triumph in his voice, “you _must_ have _manipulated_ the ritual to take the Headship and the subsequent ritual to alter your family name.”

“And how would I do that?” Wordy asked sarcastically. “Not to mention, since I did both rituals _at_ Gringotts, how, exactly, do you think I tricked the goblins?”

* * * * *

_Jules walked into the workout room to see Wordy and Sam deep in discussion; when she walked over, both men jumped and gave her guilty looks. “Hi guys,” she greeted, ignoring the guilty expressions. “What’s up?”_

_Wordy drew in a breath, looking like he was bracing himself. “Well, found out where Claire gets her magic from.”_

_The brunette constable cocked her head to the side. “Shelley?”_

_A sheepish look. “Both of us, actually. Afterwards, ‘Lanna quipped something about Romeo and Juliet.”_

_Jules’ laugh rang out. “I’m sure it’s not_ that _bad, Wordy,” she reassured her teammate._

Now she wasn’t so sure; Sam looked like he’d just been hit with a sledgehammer, Sarge like he’d been betrayed, and Giles like he was about to be sick. Ed was staring at Wordy like he’d never really seen him before and Roy clearly had no idea _what_ was going on. She had her back to Spike and Lou, so she couldn’t see how _they_ were reacting, but she was betting they were just as shocked as she was.

Lord Malfoy stroked the top of his snake headed cane. “I’m certain your young _cousins_ helped you trick the goblins into believing you were a wizard…their family’s status as Goblin-friend would make such quite easy to accomplish.”

Wordy laughed, short and bitter. “I bet you’d love to prove that, but one little problem: you’re dead wrong. I didn’t lie to the goblins and neither did _Sarge’s_ niece and nephew.” He crossed his arms, leaning back on his heels. “Besides, I’m not _stupid_ enough to try and trick the goblins…unlike my half-sister-in-law.”

_Half-sister-in-law?_

* * * * *

_“Hey, Wordy,” Spike called, pulling his locker open. “How’s everyone holding up?”_

_Wordy grinned back. “Well, Shelley’s finally calmed down; I think she took it the worst. Claire’s already trying to capitalize on her ‘just-got-kidnapped’ status, so Lilly and Ally are officially jealous. Might have to have a talk with all three of them, keep Lilly and Ally from thinking getting kidnapped is a_ good _thing.”_

_“Hey, better you than me,” Spike joked. He leaned back, his uniform shirt in hand. “Is she magical?”_

_His teammate hesitated an instant. “Yeah,” Wordy admitted, “All three of them are, actually…‘Lanna ‘fessed up that’s she’s known about their magic for awhile.”_

Had ‘Lanna known about _Wordy’s_ family, too? Judging by the look on her face, indignant and distressed all at once, Spike was going to guess ‘yes’ on that one. Oh, boy, the fallout on _this_ one was gonna be bad, he just _knew_ it.

“And what, precisely, are you insinuating?” _Squib_ , rang loudly, even if it went unsaid.

Wordy smirked, a look in his eyes that none of his teammates had ever seen before: angry, bitter, and resentful. “Well, turns out she had a Black Art squirreled away in her vault; you should’ve seen the goblins when they found _that_ out. So,” he drawled, “I guess you could call it goblin justice, the family going to me and the name getting changed.”

* * * * *

_Lou jostled Wordy’s shoulder, trying to get a smile out of his teammate. “Talk to me, man; what’s wrong? You’ve been down the past couple of days.”_

_Wordy tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just…” He stopped, then started again, “Just something I found out; I’ll get over it.”_

_“You want to talk about it?” Lou offered again._

_The brunet constable stilled, his eyes going distant, pain racing over his features. “Some family history I didn’t know until now,” he finally said. “Something I kinda wish I’d never found out.”_

_Lou rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder, wishing he could do more than that._

Angry, bitter, resentful, with an edge to him that Lou had _never_ seen before; Lou was starting to get a real sinking feeling about what that mystery ‘family history’ might have been. He didn’t think that had occurred to any of his teammates; they were too busy wrestling with the bombshell of Wordy’s family heritage.

“Such an _interesting_ interpretation of events,” Lord Malfoy sneered. He waved one of the Aurors behind him forward. “I wonder if the Wizengamot will agree with you.”

“What are you talking about?” Wordy questioned, rocking back on his heels, his expression turning confused as the stone-faced Auror advanced.

* * * * *

_“…you are not, in fact, a Wordsworth. You are, instead, the third son of the late Lord Lestrange.”_

_“…believe me, Kevin, we_ never _blamed you for a_ thing _and_ I _don’t regret_ you _for an instant.”_

_“…young Lady Calvin considers him_ family _, as does her magic.”_

Part of him was still reeling that A) his team _knew_ about his magical family and B) Lance and Alanna were _his_ cousins, too. Did that make Sarge a distant cousin of his, too? The rest of him was _furious_ that this pale haired _jerk_ had the complete and utter _gall_ to call him a _Lestrange_. Hadn’t he made it clear that he was a _Wordsworth_? Heck, he’d even, with Alanna’s help, _magically_ changed his name to Wordsworth. Wordy eyed the advancing Auror with confusion and a touch of dread; this was suddenly feeling like an arrest.

His dread was fulfilled as the Auror grabbed one wrist and used that leverage to force Wordy around and to his knees; rope wrapped around his wrists, pulling tight too fast for Wordy to even struggle.

“Oy!” Giles yelled, moving forward; the Unspeakable who’d been about to leave looked equally outraged. “ _Auror Wordsworth_ is a Canadian _Auror_ , a Canadian citizen, and this is Canadian soil; _you_ have _no_ authority to arrest him!”

It was Lord Malfoy who answered. “As the son of the late Lord Lestrange, Kevin _Lestrange_ is a _British_ citizen, regardless of his,” a sneer, “ _mother’s_ heritage…” Wordy snarled at the insult to his mother and struggled to get loose; the Auror behind him held him fast. “As his legal name is not and never was Kevin Wordsworth, any claim he has to the status of _Auror_ is null and void. Good evening.”

Wordy was dragged to his feet by the two Aurors; he looked back at his team, hurt and confused that only Giles had spoken up. “Sarge,” he pleaded, but no one, not Sarge, not Ed – none of them even _looked_ at him. “Guys,” he pleaded again as the Aurors grabbed his shoulders and forced him out of the briefing room. And still, his team, his friends, his _family_ didn’t do anything, didn’t say anything. Distress shone on the kids’ faces; _they_ at least looked at him.

As Kevin Wordsworth was dragged out of SRU Headquarters towards a very uncertain future, he could really only process one thought. _I’m all alone now…_


	2. Challenge of the Wizengamot

The first Portkey was from the British Embassy instead of Toronto’s International Portkey Division, but the route itself was the same: Toronto to Newfoundland to Ireland to London. Bound and being treated like a prisoner instead of a teammate, Wordy failed to keep his feet on any of the landings; by the time they reached London, only the armor he still wore kept him from having multiple scrapes and bruises from his falls.

Lord Malfoy looked quite satisfied as he led the small procession from London’s International Portkey Department to the elevators. Wordy kept his head down, his shoulders hunched; his team had abandoned him and he hadn’t even gotten a chance to let Shelley know what was happening. Not to mention what he and his _former_ teammates had gone through over what felt like three days but in actuality had been, time-wise, just one.

Had the brunet man looked up, he would have seen Harry Potter – Senior Auror and Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter – gaping in horror at the procession as he realized why Lord Malfoy had gone so quiet after losing the Lestrange proxy. Emerald eyes narrowed as Harry calculated his next move; the Auror vanished as the Lord’s head came up. _Challenge accepted._

* * * * *

Chatter rose in the Wizengamot chamber; it had been _years_ since an emergency session of the Wizengamot was called and no one seemed to know _why_ it had been called. The seats in the gallery and the family section filled quickly; no one wanted to miss _this_ session, regardless of what the emergency was. Two Lords on the Light side were sober and quiet – _they_ had a very good idea of what the ‘emergency’ was and why it was being labeled as such.

Unnoticed by the majority of the chattering witches and wizards, a man in black Mugglish armor was escorted into the chamber, guarded by four Aurors; four were hardly needed, as their prisoner was all but swaying in exhaustion and emotional torment. Gray eyes looked around, but their curiosity was dull, their owner’s expression blank.

Abruptly, the Chief Warlock entered, ascending to his seat and surveying the chamber. “Seal the doors!” he ordered loudly.

“Seal the doors!” the security Auror next to the doors echoed; the doors closed with a _thud_ that the prisoner winced a little at.

Wizards and witches finished taking their seats, watching both the Chief Warlock and the Lord who rose to his feet with avid interest. “This emergency session of the Wizengamot is called to order!” the Chief Warlock declared. “The floor is ceded to Lord Malfoy, who called this session.”

Whispers rose briefly, but died at the serious expression on Lord Malfoy’s face. “I thank you, Chief Warlock,” he murmured, bowing his head a moment. His head came back up, eyes flashing as he threw his shoulders back. “Wizards and Witches, several months ago we were called to attend as the House of _Lestrange_ gained a new Head of House…one who promptly broke with our ancient traditions and customs to not only _rename_ his House, but appoint a proxy simply because he and his family could not be bothered to return to their ancestral home.”

Lord Malfoy paused, sweeping his eyes across the chamber. “Naturally, I was concerned with such an _unorthodox_ Head of House and sought to investigate.” One hand stroked his snake head cane. “However, I ran into delay after delay, obstructions and petty minded bureaucrats with no sense of _proper_ wizarding customs. It has taken me all these months to even conclusively _identify_ the new Head of the House of Lestrange. And then, when I found him, I found to my shock and horror that regardless of his background, he is no wizard.” Gasps rose from Lord Malfoy’s audience. “Yes, gentlewizards and witches; the new Head of the House of Lestrange is a _Squib!_ ”

Outrage rose at once; the Wizengamot was united in its fury that such could be so, that such could be permitted. The Chief Warlock was forced to pound his gavel to bring the room to order. “Order! Order! I shall have order!” he roared, finally quelling the howls for the new Head of the House of Lestrange’s blood. He pinned Lord Malfoy with his gaze. “What proof have you of this, Lord Malfoy? The oath Lord Longbottom took was valid, as were the documents submitted at the time by Gringotts. Only a wizard would possess the magic needed to take the Headship.”

“So we all assumed, Chief Warlock,” Lord Malfoy agreed silkily. “However, the documents my agent located were quite explicit. Kevin _Lestrange_ , the new Head of the House of Lestrange is, according to his file in Canada, a Squib who discovered his heritage when his daughter, a Muggleborn witch, took an inheritance test at Gringotts.” A dramatic pause, then Lord Malfoy swept one hand down to the group of four Aurors and their prisoner. “But perhaps, Chief Warlock, you should ask _Lord_ Lestrange himself. By all means, offer to let him take the Wizengamot oath, as any other Lord is expected to do. I shall not object.”

Renewed howls of outrage rose from the assembly at the sight of the clearly Muggle man standing in the circle of Aurors. His armor, with its patches on both arms, his boots, even the empty fireleg holster strapped to one leg, all of it spoke to his _non-magical_ origins. The object of their hatred struggled to keep his feet as his body’s need for rest asserted itself once more. None of the surrounding Aurors moved to help him; they simply dragged him forward to the center of the room.

“I object!” Lord Longbottom rose to his feet, almost snarling as he demanded the Wizengamot’s attention. “I object to Lord Malfoy’s _insistence_ on calling the House of _Wordsworth_ the House of Lestrange; that name was _stricken_ from the House months ago! I object to this travesty of justice; Lord _Wordsworth_ is clearly dead on his feet! To demand that he do _anything_ here and now is an affront; he’s barely able to stand!”

Indeed, as the assembly turned to look at the man in the center of the room, he swayed and nearly fell; the Auror next to him was forced to catch him before he ended up on the floor. The Auror wore an expression of distaste as he supported the exhausted man, but he did it nonetheless.

“I object as well,” Lord Potter announced. “If it is the case that only a _wizard_ can take the Headship of a magical House, then, clearly, Lord Wordsworth _must_ be a wizard himself. Therefore, I take issue with Lord Malfoy characterizing Lord Wordsworth’s daughter as a Muggleborn and with the fact that he ordered Lord Wordsworth disarmed.”

“Disarmed?” Lord Malfoy queried, a lilt to his voice that suggested he was dealing with an imbecile.

“Yes,” Lord Potter agreed. “Where is Lord Wordsworth’s wand? You can hardly expect him to take the oath without his wand.”

“He’s a Squib,” Lord Malfoy spat, “He doesn’t _have_ a wand.”

“What proof have you of that?” Lord Longbottom questioned. “ _I_ have seen no proof of your claims and since Lord Wordsworth is a Canadian Auror, his file, just as our own Auror files are, must be restricted to the Canadian Auror Division only.”

The fact that Lord Wordsworth/Lestrange was a Canadian Auror set off a storm of whispers and murmurs in the audience. If he was an _Auror_ , he had to have magic; no one would be so foolish as to award Auror status to a Squib or worse, a Muggle.

Lord Longbottom’s voice rose yet again. “And still, I see that Lord Wordsworth is utterly wrung out and exhausted. To expect him to take the oath here and now is cruel, an affront to everything we stand for in this chamber. I move that Lord Wordsworth be granted two days grace to recover from whatever has put him in _this_ state. Then, and _only_ then, as the _current_ proxy to the House of Wordsworth, I would support Lord Wordsworth taking his Wizengamot oath.”

The gesture did precisely what it had been intended to do; in the face of such a _reasonable_ request, the murmurs turned approving. No attempt to duck responsibility, only a wish that it be deferred until the exhausted man before them could recover his strength.

“I second that,” Lord Potter agreed loudly. “A delay would also allow us to locate Lord Wordsworth’s missing wand or, if his previous wand has been destroyed, obtain a new one.”

Lord Malfoy’s expression turned very pinched, but the Wizengamot was eager to agree with the war hero and one of said hero’s best friends. The Chief Warlock also acceded to their request that Lord Wordsworth be placed in Lord Longbottom’s custody until the Wizengamot session two days hence.

* * * * *

Harry and Neville supported the exhausted and half-asleep Canadian Auror into one of Longbottom Manor’s guest rooms. They let Wordsworth down on the bed and gingerly removed as much of his armor and clothing as they could. Harry used his wand to sneak the top cover of the bed out from under the Auror – who had fallen asleep as soon as he was down – and the coverlet settled in place on top of the man.

The two friends snuck out of the room to confer. “Well, we got through today’s little bombshell,” Harry muttered. “Two days from now is going to be a mess though.”

Neville nodded agreement. “How in the world do we swing this one, Harry? He’s a Squib, no _way_ he can take the oath.”

“Well, he must have been able to use magic at some point; he _is_ a family Head, he would have had to go through the ritual just like _we_ did,” Harry pointed out as he leaned against the wall. “Malfoy dragged him in alone, so his teammates might still be in Toronto.”

“None of _them_ have magic either,” Neville countered. “And I don’t know for sure, but I think he was leaving the whole _Lestrange_ thing out of any of his explanations to them; he sure didn’t tell his friend about the name change when I was first over there to meet him.”

“So he might have been keeping secrets,” Harry concluded heavily. “That doesn’t help.” He thought hard for a few seconds. “Hmmm. It’s a long shot, but what if we could find Fawkes and convince him to come with us to the meeting?”

Neville’s eyes widened. “A phoenix, accompanying the Head of a Dark House? They’d go nuts, but they’d still want the oath.”

“Right,” Harry agreed. “That’s why _you’re_ going to take him to Ollivanders and see if he can get a wand. He’s a Squib, but I’m going to go out on a limb and say that’s because his mother got cursed by that Death Eater slimeball.”

“Stunted core,” Neville breathed. “So, maybe he’s got enough magic to get a wand and make the oath?”

“All we can do is try,” Harry whispered. “I’ll tell you one thing though Neville. If this doesn’t work and he ends up in Azkaban, I’ll never forgive myself for telling Lancelot about that Wizengamot vote; it wasn’t worth a man’s life.”

Neville looked at the guest room, his eyes sad. “Makes you wonder if any of this is worth it, if we pay for every victory in blood.”

“Not over yet, Nev,” Harry observed. “Now come on. Let him sleep…we have more planning to do…and then I want to find out where the heck his teammates are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we come to the end of another week. I've actually worked this week, so I'm happy about that. Less pleased with my work laptop...the touchscreen went out, so I took it in...and the touchscreen instantly started working again. Just like a VCR when you take it to the repair guy! Seriously! It wasn't even two minutes between the time it didn't work and it did! I'm happy for the weekend and hopefully that maybe, just maybe, I'm starting to see the light at the end of the transition tunnel. Maybe.
> 
> Happy Weekend All!


	3. Finding Fawkes

Harry drew in a deep breath as he stepped into the Forbidden Forest. In the years since the Battle of Hogwarts, the relationship between the denizens of Hogwarts and the centaurs of the Forbidden Forest had improved to the point that most humans no longer had to fear being attacked for merely crossing the boundary, though insulting the centaurs was still a recipe for disaster. As the ‘Master of Death’, Harry had a few more privileges than the average wizard, but he was still very careful to avoid insulting the proud warrior race.

“Harry Potter.” The palomino centaur seemed to appear out of nowhere, falling into step next to the wizard as Harry continued to stride into the Forest.

“Hello, Firenze,” Harry greeted the blond, blue-eyed centaur. “How have you been?”

“Very well,” Firenze replied, a smile gracing his features. “And before you ask, the herd is well and thanks you for your Christmas gift this past year. What brings you to our forest?”

A grimace crossed Harry’s face. “A long shot.” At Firenze’s cocked head, he elaborated. “I’m looking for Fawkes. Malfoy’s up to his old tricks again, only _this_ time he’s trying to get an innocent man thrown into Azkaban just because he doesn’t match up to Malfoy’s expectations for who he should be and how he should act as the Head of an old British House.” Harry’s eyes hardened. “Neville and I bought two days’ grace and I’m hoping Fawkes will be around and willing to help.”

“Ah.” Firenze frowned as the two continued to move. “Fawkes is not here, Harry,” he announced after a few moments. “He has not been seen in our forest since the day of Albus Dumbledore’s funeral.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped at that.

“However, I would be remiss if I allowed you to leave without my daughter greeting you; she has been _most_ insistent on meeting the human I allowed on my back.” The centaur smiled, earning a brief grin from the wizard. “And perhaps we might consult with Magorian on this matter…we have been seeing some…unexpected movements of the planets of late.”

“Is Mars bright again?” Harry asked, worry lacing his voice.

Firenze’s frown grew deeper. “It varies, Harry. Of late, its light changes on a daily basis; only last night it burned almost as bright as the moon, but faded close to sunrise. We have been unable to account for why this is so. In truth, I am glad you are here, for something even more disturbing has occurred.”

“Can I help?”

“I do not know,” Firenze admitted. “It has been many years, nay centuries, since any Fell Creature dared to step foot into our forest, but today, a minotaur came before us, begging our aid.”

“A minotaur? I’ve never heard of the magical world having minotaurs,” Harry mused.

A snort of disdain. “They are, thankfully, quite rare. In times past, many of them served Dark Lords and Ladies, always seeking to bring down as many of our kind as they could. _This_ one believes that we know or _will_ know of a ‘Lion-touched’ in need of aid. He has asked for our help in the name of Aslan, though that name means nothing to me or the rest of my herd.”

Harry considered that. The name ‘Aslan’ rang a bell, as if he’d heard it somewhere before, but he couldn’t quite place it. “You’d better take me to him then,” he decided. “If we have another Dark Lord on the move, we _need_ to halt him in his tracks.”

Firenze nodded agreement and approval as he led the way, deeper into the Forest.

* * * * *

Far away, on the continent of North America, near a long dormant volcano called Mount Rainier, a phoenix perched in his customary spot, surveying the area he had chosen as his home after the death of his longtime companion. In the years since the phoenix had left his former home, he had settled in quite well; he made it a point to be homesick no more than twice a week and if the nearby settlement of humans lost a few pieces of candy here and there, well, they could easily afford such treats. And he was _absolutely_ not bored, no indeed.

A trill rattled through the clearing, the phoenix slumping a bit. Oh, very well…he was bored, he missed the human world far more than he’d expected, and a part of him was strongly considering returning and finding a new companion. Perhaps the hatchling who bore the wand made of his tail feather would do; the hatchling and his wizard _had_ been quite close.

The phoenix spread his wings, checking for any feathers that had ruffled up and out of place. One had, so he preened it back into its former location, chirping his approval when it settled in nicely. A piping song reached the phoenix and he swept his head up and around to see who might have just arrived at his quiet retreat.

Another phoenix, a _Narnian_ phoenix swooped overhead, piping a greeting and picking a nearby branch to land on. **_Greetings, wing brother,_** she trilled as she folded her wings and made a brief bow with her head.

Though a touch disgruntled at the disturbance of his privacy, the phoenix returned the bow. **_Good afternoon, wing sister,_** he returned. **_How do you fare, young one?_**

**_I fare well,_** the female replied. **_If I may be so bold, wing brother, you are the one the humans call Fawkes, are you not?_**

Fawkes ruffled his feathers, disgruntlement turning into annoyance. **_I am,_** he confessed. **_But I prefer not to speak of those years…even now, I mourn my wizard._** He peered at her. **_You came in search of me, didn’t you, young one?_**

The female inclined her head, the movement displaying her curiously hued crest and head feathers. **_I, too, have found a group of humans to befriend,_** she explained, **_One of them has been taken from his flock, his reputation defamed and his future in danger unless something is done and soon. I have come to ask your aid, honored elder._**

**_And what aid do you believe I can offer?_** Fawkes inquired, his eyes hard. **_I do not wish to have another wizard, not for some time at any rate._**

**_I would not dream of asking you to forfeit your freedom!_** the female cried, drawing back. **_No, the boon I would ask is that you come with me to England and accompany my friend to his trial before the Wizengamot. In your company, my own presence will not be so unusual and so I may be with my friend as he faces this challenge._**

Fawkes ruffled his feathers again, turning pointedly away. **_I do not wish to return to England, young one. Leave and do not bother me again._**

But she did not leave; instead she gave a piping trill of indignation and fluttered off her perch, moving to one in Fawkes’ line of sight. **_Please, Fawkes,_** she trilled, **_He is a good man, with chicks and a mate of his own. He protects others, at great risk to himself, and supports his flock most faithfully._**

**_I do not wish to return to where my wizard fell and died, young one. Leave me in peace._** Fawkes lifted from his perch and flew away, vanishing in his customary fireball as soon as he could. He landed in his new location, well satisfied that the young one could not follow.

But he had not given the young one enough credit, for no sooner had he settled into his preening, then she appeared again, flitting downwards and landing on a branch close to his own. **_So,_** she observed, her eyes flashing, **_This is the mighty Fawkes, the phoenix who accompanied Albus Dumbledore and called him friend unto his death._** Her trill was disdainful. **_How the mighty have fallen. Now, simply to avoid England, you ignore the plight of an innocent._**

**_You test my patience, hatchling,_** Fawkes snapped. **_I have given you my answer._**

Her head came up. **_So you have,_** she agreed, **_But I do not accept it, sir. I am unknown in England; they would never allow me to accompany my friend by myself._**

**_And what, may I ask, is so critical that you must be there, young one?_** Fawkes gave the young one a _highly_ unimpressed look.

She met his gaze boldly. **_He is a Squib, oh mighty one, and there are those who would deny him his heritage based on that alone. More than that, they would imprison him for claiming what the goblins gave him in recompense for the wrongs he suffered._**

**_Goblins are not that generous, young one,_** Fawkes countered lazily.

**_So it is,_** she admitted. **_He was born of the Lestrange flock, but his sire deceived his mother and father, preventing them from realizing his father was not his sire. On the day he discovered his heritage, the goblins also discovered that the Lestrange flock had violated the treaties between their kind and the humans._**

**_Enough, young one. I have seen enough to guess the rest._** Fawkes considered her words. **_You are of Narnia; does Narnia claim this human?_**

Her eyes turned defiant. **_I have claimed him and his flock,_** she declared. **_Narnia will not violate their free will, but if they wish to be of Narnia, then Narnia will have them._** She trilled challenge. **_Will you help him?_**

Fawkes grumbled to himself, but it was most clear that the female had no intention of accepting a refusal on his part. **_I will help,_** he agreed, **_if only so that you do not badger me to death in my refusal._**

The female bobbed her head and then the two phoenixes took to the sky, vanishing in near identical balls of fire.

* * * * *

Harry surveyed the minotaur calmly kneeling in the center of the camp with six centaurs around him, weapons at the ready. The large creature looked almost exactly like the Muggle myths portrayed minotaurs to be: half-bull and half-man. The minotaur in front of him was mostly gray, with silver fur around his head in a sort of bull-like mane and on his muzzle, outlining his eyes and muzzle. Harry was a bit surprised that the minotaur had no ring in his muzzle as he’d seen in pictures from the old myths, but the lack of a ring actually improved the minotaur’s appearance. He wore armor, heavy armor, on his chest, shoulders, and legs, but Harry could tell that there was none on his back. His two horns gleamed a pearly white and their sharp tips glinted and gleamed in the light, even as he knelt with his head partially bowed. His hands, when Harry looked at them, were not human, but not fully bull either. Instead, the minotaur had two thick hoof-like fingers and a clawed thumb on each hand, but he didn’t seem to suffer from any lack; Harry could see the minotaur’s battle axes being kept on a nearby weapon rack, guarded by another two centaurs. The wizard tilted his head, studying the minotaur’s hooves, but his legs and hooves were hidden by his position and the dim light in the camp.

Firenze led Harry right up to the minotaur, who lifted his head to regard the new arrivals. His eyes were a soft brown and just as calm as his stance. When he spotted Harry’s scar, his eyes widened a touch before he bowed his head again. “Lord Harry Potter, Master of Death,” he rumbled, his voice low and gravelly.

“Who are you?” Harry demanded of the creature, unnerved that the minotaur knew who he was and what his reputation was.

Another rumble. “I am Maxus, Lord Harry Potter, Master of Death,” the minotaur replied. “Named after the Captain of His Highness King Edmund the Just’s guards in Narnia.”

Harry studied the minotaur for a moment. “Firenze says you have come requesting aid for another.”

“I have,” Maxus agreed.

“Tell me about this individual,” Harry requested.

The minotaur glanced up, then down as he saw Harry watching him. “Word has reached our camp that one of the Lion-touched has been falsely accused of taking what is not his. We would offer what aid we can in clearing his name and permitting him to return to his fellow Lion-touched and his home. The leader of our camp bade me come and present his case to the centaurs, seeking their aid after he and his fellow Lion-touched averted almost certain war.”

“ ‘Almost certain war’?” Harry questioned sharply.

The minotaur rumbled assent. “But two days past, our leader foresaw in her weaving a great war between those of magic and those of technology, heralded by the rise of the moon. All nations would be engulfed in war and a Purge of magic, greater than even the Purge of His Highness King Uther of Camelot, would ensue as those of technology struck back at those who attacked them unprovoked.”

Harry swallowed hard. “And?” he rasped out.

“At moonrise, we cowered, waiting for the end, but it did not come,” Maxus continued. “As the moon rose farther in the sky, our leader set her loom and began to weave once more. And in her weaving, we saw the change of Time itself, the threads of Fate denied and rewoven by the Lion Himself as the Lion-touched and the Lion’s Heirs risked all to avert the war.” The minotaur’s head lifted and the eyes that met Harry’s were proud and defiant. “Once a Lion-touched gave us back the sun when we had shunned it in fear for centuries. They have not called upon us, but the Traitor’s Army will answer nonetheless; we will not stand by as those who risked all are shamed and scorned by those they saved.”

Silence hung; even the centaurs were shocked by the minotaur’s words. The silence was broken by two balls of fire that drew all eyes upward and Harry gaped as Fawkes and another phoenix appeared and swept downwards. Maxus reacted first, rising to his hooves and presenting his arm in silent offer. Harry mentally gulped as he realized Maxus stood almost two meters taller than he did. Fawkes did not land, but the other phoenix did, trilling a greeting to the minotaur.

Fawkes fluttered around Harry, piping a greeting that made the wizard smile back. “It’s great to see you again, Fawkes,” he responded, offering his own arm for the phoenix to land on. “And we need your help.”

The phoenix on Maxus’ arm trilled rather smugly, earning an annoyed piped reply from Fawkes. Maxus chuckled, his deep notes startling Harry all over again. “Greetings, My Lady,” he said to the phoenix, bowing as best he could without jostling the bird on his arm. “You have come to aid your own?”

An affirmative trill.

Maxus rumbled once again, his bull head dipping ever so briefly. “You have our thanks, My Lady, for your efforts. Do not forget our message to the Lion-touched we met; the Traitor’s Army is yours to call upon if you need us.” He turned his attention to the centaurs. “You have my apologies for intruding upon your domain and your time; we shall not bother you again.”

“You assume we will release you, minotaur,” one of the guards sneered.

The phoenix trilled her disapproval and spread her wings, letting fire dance across them. The warning was clear; she would not permit harm to come to the minotaur.

Harry spoke up. “Has he hurt anyone?”

“No,” Firenze replied. “And his words illuminate why Mars has been so erratic of late; we shall need time to consider the workings of Time and Fate.” The centaur trotted to Maxus’ battle axes and hefted them, returning them to the minotaur. “Should you return, you will not be so fortunate,” Firenze warned the man-bull.

“Your warning shall be heeded, Honored Centaur,” Maxus replied, before bowing once more to Harry; the phoenix on his arm fluttered off to give him room. “I thank you for your forbearance, Lord Harry Potter, Master of Death.” With that, the minotaur turned and leapt away, vanishing into the forest within five strides.

Harry’s back stiffened; he wasn’t sure he had followed the minotaur perfectly, but he _was_ sure that they were running out of time. He turned to Firenze. “Please give my apologies to your daughter, Firenze. A man’s life is on the line and I haven’t got a moment to lose.”

Firenze bowed, his eyes serene. “Go then, Harry Potter. May you triumph once more.” He gave the mystery phoenix a piercing look. “The days of Old return; the forgotten Magic rises to greet the dawn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to TheNotSoMutantTurtles on for Maxus' name; yes, Maxus is from the Traitor's Army stories.
> 
> On a RL note, I'm having one heck of a time with changing the billing address for one of my bank accounts. Long story short, yesterday I had to go to two banks, call _my_ bank again, and finally go to a UPS store to get the ball rolling again on changing the address. Even longer story on why the ball stopped in the first place. I also spent most of the weekend running from place to place and doing chore after chore, so it wasn't much of a weekend. Still tired and wishing it was Friday.


	4. The Wand Chooses the Wizard

Neville Longbottom resisted the urge to find a handy wall to slam his head against; it was _surely_ more productive than arguing with the stubborn, honorable Squib in front of him. Instead, the wizard raked his hands through his hair and tried, yet again, to explain the situation to the other man. “You’re looking at Azkaban, Wordy, _Azkaban_. And not just for a few days or months…if Malfoy gets his way, it’s a _life sentence_.”

Still tired, but not falling over in exhaustion anymore, Wordy crossed his arms. “I’m not going to lie to them, Neville. I _am_ a Squib and nothing I say or do will change that fact.” His gray eyes hardened. “If I start lying now, I’ll never be able to look my daughters in the eye again. Or Shelley. And I’m not going to lie when I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Neville bit back a frustrated snarl and stalked away and back, his guest watching him warily. “They’ll throw you in Azkaban; it won’t _matter_ that it wasn’t illegal for you to take the Headship, all _they’ll_ see is a Squib ‘stealing’ an old British family and their seat on the Wizengamot.”

“Claire will get the family Headship _anyway_ , so why the big fuss?” Wordy questioned.

A nod acknowledged Wordy’s point. “It’s rare for females to take up the Headship, but not unheard of. It’s possible Malfoy’s forgotten that your daughter would be first in line after you, but I doubt that; Malfoy’s too careful and detail oriented to forget a detail like that. But that’s neither here nor there…you were asking why Malfoy’s throwing his big tantrum.”

Wordy nodded, his gaze intent.

“Your daughter is years away from her majority,” Neville explained, “years that Malfoy can use, _if_ he can get the proxy back. If he can get you out of the way, there’s even a little known law that he could, in theory, use in an attempt to take your eldest daughter away from her mother as the future Head of the family.”

Wordy growled, his fists bunching at the thought. “I won’t let him have my family.”

“And your best chance of _that_ is to go along with this,” Neville argued, all but throwing his hands up in frustration. “Look, I get it; I don’t like lying either, but I don’t see much other choice if we want to keep you out of Azkaban and your family out of Malfoy’s greedy paws.”

A muscle in the constable’s jaw worked as he considered his options, but he didn’t respond.

Neville sighed to himself. “Will you at least _try_ to get a wand? I’m not saying you have to go all the way, but at least we can see if it will even work?” He knew he was begging, but he didn’t care all that much…they’d lost one of their two days letting Wordy sleep and the man _still_ looked beat. Harry had, for a miracle, actually found Fawkes and another phoenix who’d refused to be shooed off, but today he’d been called for an urgent meeting at Gringotts, leaving Neville to talk the constable in front of him into going to Ollivanders.

“Okay.” Wordy looked like he was eating glass as he said the word, but he didn’t back down once the acceptance was out. “When do we leave?”

As if Neville was going to wait. “Now.”

* * * * *

They entered the shop, which was much the same as when Neville had gotten his second wand; narrow and shabby, though the windows and their lettering was new, a relic of the kidnapping Garrick Ollivander had suffered during the Second War and the damage his shop had taken when the Death Eaters snatched him. The wand lying on the faded purple pillow in the window hadn’t changed, just as there was still a sole, spindly chair in one corner and the narrow boxes of wands were stacked up to the ceiling of the small store.

Wordy glanced around the store, his curiosity plain to see and his black Mugglish armor allowing him to blend into the small shop’s dim background a bit. He’d point blank _refused_ to wear wizarding robes, the set of his shoulders and his narrowed eyes warning Neville to drop the subject…or _else_. The tension in the man hadn’t abated and Neville hadn’t had the courage to ask about the Squib’s teammates; they had enough issues to deal with at the moment, plus Neville suspected the topic would get him another death glare or three.

“Neville Longbottom. Cherry, with unicorn hair, thirteen inches.” The man who spoke those words appeared from the back of the shop, his eyes sweeping over his two customers. White hair extended in all directions, giving him a look reminiscent of a mad scientist and, as he moved closer, the two men could see his pale silver eyes regarding them. He stood a head shorter than Wordy and was slightly bent as he walked.

“Mr. Ollivander,” Neville returned, a smile crossing his face. “Still scaring the customers by listing off their wands? How are you today?”

“Much as I always am, Mr. Longbottom,” the old wandmaker returned. His gaze shifted to Wordy. “I have never sold you a wand before,” he remarked, “Or I would remember you.”

Neville’s expression turned grim. “No, you haven’t sold my friend here a wand. He’s from Canada,” the wandmaker looked intrigued by that, “and he’s a Squib.”

“And yet you are here,” Ollivander observed thoughtfully. His attention turned to Wordy. “Squibs such as yourself do not have the magic required to use a wand.” He spread his hands in clear apology, then looked back to Neville. “Surely you knew this already, Mr. Longbottom.”

A brief sigh. “I did,” Neville agreed, “But that’s in the case of traditional Squibs, Mr. Ollivander. What about a Squib with a stunted magical core?”

The wandmaker’s gaze sharpened and he studied both of them for some moments. “A Squib, regardless of how they came to be, does not need a wand, Mr. Longbottom. It matters not if the cause is damage to the Squib’s magical core or a general lack of magical ability. Nor do I believe any of my wands would be willing to accept someone who cannot use them to their full ability. The wand does, you must remember, choose the wizard.”

Neville noticed Wordy’s reaction out of the corner of his eye; the other man sighed just a little and started to back towards the door, obviously hoping for a graceful exit. In truth, Neville was just as disappointed; Ollivander could have at least _tried_ to match Wordy with a wand.

“By the by, what is your surname, sir?” Ollivander asked suddenly, as though a thought had just come to mind.

Wordy halted, startled by the question. “Wordsworth,” he replied, cocking his head to the side in a silent _‘Why?’_.

Ollivander’s expression turned considering. “A moment, if I may,” he requested, before vanishing back into his back room. The two men traded looks, uncertain, but willing to wait for the elder gentleman. Neville took an instant to wonder at the change of heart, but dismissed it as unimportant…at least they were getting somewhere now.

After a minute or two, the wandmaker returned, carrying a thin, narrow box. “While it is true that most wands will refuse to work with anyone other than a wizard,” Ollivander began, “Some wands can be more…obliging, if you will. I can make no promises, but this may be such a one.” He opened the box, revealing a rich red hued wand, with a elegantly ‘woven’ handle and several ringed ridges along the wand’s length. “Redwood, with unicorn hair, eleven and one-eighth inches, rather flexible.” The wandmaker lifted the wand from the box, turning it in his hands and offering it to Wordy.

Wordy eyed the wand, surprised that it looked a bit…familiar. He hesitated, then reached forward and took the wand. A warmth surged through the wand, almost greeting him as if it was an old friend, rather than an inanimate piece of wood and sparks flew from the wand’s tip, gold and blue. Wordy sucked in a breath, feeling as if he’d just gotten punched in the stomach.

“Well, it appears that the wand will work,” Ollivander observed, taking the wand back and returning it to its box. “That will be seven Galleons.”

Neville pulled seven golden coins from his belt purse, placing them on the counter and giving Wordy a _Look_ when the constable made to protest Neville paying for the wand. The other man subsided, though it was clear that Neville’s victory was temporary at best.

Ollivander wrapped up the box and gave it to Wordy, bowing both men out of his shop. As they left, he turned, his eyes falling on a figure watching from the back room. The old wandmaker inclined his head to the figure, receiving an approving nod in return.

* * * * *

Harry was still stunned as he returned to Longbottom Manor; the strategy he’d been told to use…the arrangements that had already been made…and the incredible risk it all represented. He was numb as he walked into the room he and Neville had commandeered for their planning and plotting.

“Harry? Something wrong?” Neville asked as soon as he got a good look at his old friend.

Harry sat down in the closest chair and looked up. “The meeting today, it was with the Calvin Family Account Manager.”

“Silnok?” Wordy asked, looking surprised. “He’s putting his hand in?”

A nod, though Harry still looked as if he’d been clocked. “The Calvin Family is invoking their proxy for the Wizengamot session.” He met the eyes of the other two men. “I’ve been instructed to arrange for a Canadian Auror to bring in Rita Skeeter for trial before the Wizengamot can demand that you take the oath. Between her trial and the two phoenixes, Silnok hopes that the Wizengamot will drop their demands for the oath.”

“That’s not likely,” Neville mumbled. “But that sounds more or less about what _we_ were planning anyway, so why do you look like that?”

The messy raven haired head shook. “If that doesn’t work, Silnok’s ordered me to invoke the Myrrdin Code as the Ancient and Noble House of Calvin’s proxy.”

Neville’s jaw dropped in horror. “The _Myrrdin Code?_ Is he _insane?_ ”

Wordy looked between the two wizards in confusion. “What? What’s the Myrrdin Code?”

Neville swallowed hard. “The Myrrdin Code consists of all the laws regarding magic and its use during the time of King Arthur. It’s never been officially repealed, so it _can_ be invoked, but it’s seen by both sides as old and outdated. If the Calvin family invokes it, they destroy most of their political power in one fell swoop; the Dark families will see it as clinging to the shards of a past that hasn’t existed since the beginning of the Statute of Secrecy and the Light families will see it as wanting to return to the days of Morgana Le Fay and _her_ ilk.”

“Then why use it?” Wordy questioned.

“Because,” Harry replied heavily, “Under the Myrrdin Code, _you’re_ considered magical, even though you can’t _use_ your magic. And discriminating against a fellow magical is against the Code.” He left out the _other_ requirement Silnok had made of him should things go that far.

“The Wizengamot would be forced to accept you as magical,” Neville breathed. “Malfoy’s attempt to seize the proxy would be stopped in its tracks.”

Harry nodded agreement, though he still looked unhappy. Wordy looked between the two men. “So, it would work, but the Calvin family would lose all the respect and influence it has right now?”

“Essentially, yes,” Harry admitted softly. “And you’re not allowed to turn it down, Wordy. Silnok said Heir Calvin was insistent on this course and that Heir Calvin told him that his family’s political power was nothing next to a man’s life.”

Wordy swallowed, looking both awed and touched. “Sounds like him,” he whispered. The constable shook his head, resigned even as he protested, “But that’s his family’s future on the line…”

“Artorius would have done it,” Harry countered, shaking his own head. “In a heartbeat, if it meant doing the right thing.” A wistful, fond smile crossed the wizard’s face. “He would have loved to have met you…a blood Lestrange who turned his back on the family name and reputation.”

“It’s not like I _knew_ I was doing that,” Wordy pointed out.

The smile on Harry’s face spread. “I know, but he still would have loved it; his Mum was a Lestrange.” The wizard sighed and glanced up. “Nev, did you find robes for tomorrow?”

“No robes,” Wordy cut in. “I’m not ashamed of my background and I don’t care if _they_ are.” The constable’s jaw set. “I’m wearing my armor.”

“Your armor makes you look like a Muggle,” Harry argued.

“Gee, what a surprise…that’s kinda the _point_ , isn’t it?” Wordy countered, sarcasm reeking from his voice. He softened, but only a little. “Look, I get it; you two want to give me the best chance you can, but the armor is _not_ negotiable.”

“Why?” Neville inquired, cocking his head to the side.

Wordy’s expression closed off. “Just how it is, Neville. You guys can either let me keep the armor or I don’t go at all.”

Well, _that_ changed the equation. As neither wizard was willing to face the next day _without_ their star attraction/witness/defendant, the two decided, with a glance between them, to back down. Neville studied the armor a few seconds more and frowned to himself. “Wordy? Could I at least have the house-elves _clean_ the armor?”

The constable blinked and glanced down at his armor, frowning himself at how grimy it was getting. “You promise you won’t make it disappear?”

“My word of honor,” Neville reassured the other man.

A short nod. “Okay, then; I’ll go take it off and you can send it off to get cleaned.”

Harry waited until Wordy was gone, then arched a brow.

“I gave my word, Harry,” Neville chided. “Besides, I don’t think he’s just being stubborn for the fun of it. Best to let him have his way on this one.” He looked at Harry sharply. “What are you leaving out?”

The war hero’s shoulders slumped. “Make sure he brings that wand you got, Neville. And we’d _better_ hope this works, ‘cause we are officially in ‘all or nothing’ territory.”

Neville shuddered. All or nothing…sounded about par for the course at this point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of another week. While it hasn't been easy, thankfully, the banking issues have been cleared up, freeing me to focus on the next set of 'I just moved' problems (oh, and work problems too). I'm looking forward to sleeping in tomorrow and I'd best wrap this up, post, and go to work.
> 
> Happy Friday and Happy Reading, and have a great weekend all!


	5. The Trial of Rita Skeeter

Wordy swallowed as he stayed behind Neville and Harry; if anything, the Wizengamot chamber was even _more_ intimidating now that he wasn’t dead on his feet. And it was getting _very_ awkward with all the people staring in their direction…at him, his armor, and the two phoenixes that had taken up perches on his shoulders. One of them, Fawkes, was getting the most attention by far; from what Harry had said, today was the first time Fawkes had been seen since Albus Dumbledore’s funeral. Wordy wisely didn’t touch that subject; Harry’s eyes had gone rather shuttered at the memory. On Wordy’s other shoulder, the blonde and platinum blonde phoenix made herself comfortable, trilling to herself every so often as she looked around from her perch.

As the trio entered the Wizengamot chamber, a hush fell over those already present, the assembly taking in the sight of the Lord of a traditionally Dark house with two phoenixes actually perched on his shoulders. After a instant, chatter rose again, the volume easily exceeding the prior quiet tones in seconds.

“Head high,” Harry muttered without turning. When Wordy started a little, Harry turned with a small half-grin. “Used to have to tell myself that every time I came in here.” He broke off from their little group, heading to the clerk and whispering something to him.

Neville considered, then led Wordy up to a chair on the Wizengamot’s third tier. “This is your seat,” he murmured. “Normally, you can’t take this seat until you take the oath, but with Lord Malfoy’s challenge, it makes sense to keep you close to the floor instead of up in the family tier.”

Wordy nodded and slid past the shorter man to inspect the chair. The two phoenixes lifted off and settled themselves on the railing as their former perch frowned, kneeling down and inspecting the area. “Could you check it?”

Neville blinked, then flicked his wand in a quick diagnostic. Nothing flared. “Looks clean,” he reported, “But you can’t be too paranoid right now, so good thinking.” He hesitated, then added, “I have to go to my own seat now, sorry.”

The brunet looked over his shoulder, tossing Neville a grin. “I’ll be fine, thanks. Not exactly my first hot call here.”

With a shake of his head, Neville headed for his seat, noticing Harry’s expression as he went. Harry looked gleeful about something and Neville hoped that meant things were finally about to go their way.

* * * * *

As people settled and chatter continued, a man in an Auror trenchcoat entered, escorting a woman; the woman was fighting to get loose and she’d obviously been silenced at some point. Neville’s eyebrows shot up as he recognized the prisoner; Rita Skeeter’s hair was askew and her magenta robes looked as though she’d been forced to sleep in them. Her rhinestone glasses were crooked and he was pretty sure they were missing a jewel or two. The Auror hauling her along didn’t glance up at the Wizengamot; his jaw was set, his eyes angry and hard.

Neville’s gaze stayed on the pair even as the Chief Warlock entered and took his seat. “Seal the doors!” the man ordered.

The security Auror echoed the order and the massive doors to the chamber swung shut. Chatter died out more swiftly than usual; everyone was eager to see the continuation of the spectacle from two days previous.

“This emergency session of the Wizengamot is called to order!” the Chief Warlock declared. Before he could cede the floor to a salivating Lord Malfoy, the clerk rose and received a grudging nod to proceed.

“Lord Potter has relayed a request from the Canadian Ministry of Magic to delay today’s session long enough to deal with a violation of a diplomatic visa on their soil,” Clerk Dullard announced gravely. “A Canadian Auror has escorted the accused to the Wizengamot and can present evidence concerning the violation.”

Lord Malfoy protested at once. “Surely such a matter can wait until we have dealt with ‘Lord’ Lestrange; I move that this issue be put aside until ‘Lord’ Lestrange takes his oath.”

“If I may?” Harry requested, rising himself.

The Chief Warlock eyed the seething Lord Malfoy and the serene Lord Potter. “Very well, the floor is ceded to Lord Potter.”

Harry inclined his head. “My response is twofold, Lord Malfoy. The _violation_ of Canadian law by one of _our_ diplomats is a serious issue, particularly as they cannot try such violations themselves, but must be content with expelling the offending diplomat in hopes that we ourselves will punish the offender. From the information I received, the violation the Canadian Ministry of Magic discovered has bearing on the issue of Lord _Wordsworth_ and, additionally, is serious enough that the Canadian Ministry of Magic has threatened to go to the ICW if we do not deal with this in a timely manner.”

“And what, pray tell,” Lord Malfoy countered, “Would they tell the ICW? That they have a _Squib_ working for them as an Auror?”

Harry’s smile was so angelic that Neville shuddered. “No, Lord Malfoy. They would report to the ICW that _you_ and two of _our_ Aurors arrested Lord Wordsworth in a Muggle police station, with all three of you as well as your pet reporter in robes. Additionally, I am given to understand that Lord Wordsworth’s Auror teammates were required to remove images of your visit from the Muggle security camera’s record to prevent a Statute of Secrecy breach.”

The room erupted in fury; only Harry, Neville, the Auror on the floor, and, when Neville turned to look, Wordy remained calm. Lord Malfoy was forced to back away from the edge of his tier’s railing as the room turned on him. Much as the chamber had, two days earlier, turned on Wordy, it now turned on Lord Malfoy. For over two minutes, the room was near deafening, but the Chief Warlock finally recovered enough to pound his gavel and roar for order. At first, the volume was still too high for the gavel to be heard, but slowly the gavel and the yells of the Chief Warlock took effect.

“Order!” the Chief Warlock commanded, pounding his gavel as the room began to quiet. “I shall have order!” When the volume fell enough that he could be heard without raising his voice, he fixed Harry with a disapproving look. “I trust that this Canadian Auror is present?”

Harry smirked. “Of course, Chief Warlock,” he replied, gesturing to the Auror and his prisoner. “May I present Canadian Auror Giles Onasi and our ‘diplomat’ Miss Rita Skeeter?”

The room nearly erupted again, but the Chief Warlock pounded his gavel and gave the entire room a deadly look, _daring_ them to continue. “All in favor of proceeding to trial?”

Not even Lord Malfoy dared vote in opposition; he was thoroughly cowed by the Wizengamot’s reaction to Harry’s report. Neville turned his attention to a smug Auror Onasi and his indignant prisoner. Auror Onasi pulled Skeeter to the center of the chamber and turned her over to the security Auror.

With a bow to the entire room, he began. “Lords and Ladies of the British Wizengamot, I thank you for your time. Miss Rita Skeeter was apprehended in the headquarters of the Muggle Strategic Response Unit in Toronto, Canada. She was discovered by two underage wizards in her Animagus form, a blue beetle.”

Gasps came from around the room and Lord Nott rose, lighting his wand to gain attention. “Miss Skeeter is not on the Animagus Registry, Auror Onasi; surely you are mistaken.”

“With all due respect, sir, I am not,” Auror Onasi refuted. “I cast the detection spell on her Animagus form myself as well as the Animagus reversal spell. I _personally_ saw her transform back from her Animagus form.” Murmurs rose, but the Auror continued, “As you know, Canada maintains its own Animagus Registry, just as all magical nations do. Miss Skeeter is not on our Registry and as you, sir, have just confirmed that she is not on Britain’s Animagus Registry, then, unless she is on _another_ country’s Registry, she is unregistered.”

He paused a moment to let the facts sink in. “Additionally,” he announced, pulling several flat, white sheets from a folder in his hands, “I also have images of Miss Skeeter assuming her Animagus form inside the Muggle police station; these images were taken by a Muggle security camera and later removed by a member of our Auror Strategic Response Unit to preserve the Statute of Secrecy.”

Clerk Dullard summoned the Muggle photos from Auror Onasi and used his wand to create several duplicates; the duplicates were passed out to the Wizengamot. The murmurs of the court turned angry as the pictures were passed from lord to lord. Auror Onasi wisely waited out the indignation and anger.

When the anger had died down to a dull roar, Auror Onasi cleared his throat and drew another piece of parchment from his folder. “In addition to violating the Statute of Secrecy and being an unregistered Animagus, Miss Skeeter also gained access to our public records archive under false pretenses; she claimed to be investigating Death Eater activity in Toronto during the War, but we have found no notes of any kind on her person. What we _have_ found is evidence that an Animagus breached our Auror records during the same period of time as when Miss Skeeter had access to the public records archive. An Auror file was copied and the copy removed from our Auror Division headquarters.” Auror Onasi’s gaze turned hard as he regarded the Wizengamot. “We take _any_ breach of our Auror records _very_ seriously; if not for the diplomatic visa that Miss Skeeter was issued, we would be trying her ourselves for this crime.”

Neville knew a cue when he saw it, so he rose to his feet and patiently waited to be recognized. When the Chief Warlock nodded to him, he inquired, “Auror Onasi, does your division have any idea of what Miss Skeeter did with the file she stole?”

Auror Onasi all but beamed at the question. “Although our evidence is circumstantial, we believe that Miss Skeeter gave the file to a British Lord who was also in our country under a diplomatic visa. Miss Skeeter was apprehended shortly after Lord Malfoy and the two British Aurors with him arrested a Canadian Auror on Canadian soil, in the middle of a Muggle police station.”

Lord Malfoy didn’t give them a chance to lead the questions around to Wordy; he rose to his feet and snarled, “Kevin _Lestrange_ is a _British_ citizen, Auror Onasi! And he is _no_ Auror!”

Auror Onasi regarded Lord Malfoy, his face outwardly in control, but Neville saw his jaw twitch. After a second or so, the Auror shook his head slowly. “No, Lord Malfoy, Auror Kevin _Wordsworth_ is a Canadian citizen. Regardless of who his father turned out to be, when he was born, he was issued a Canadian birth certificate, with a Canadian mother and father listed on it. Legally speaking, he _is_ Kevin Wordsworth; the late Lord Lestrange would have had to lay claim to his son before said son’s eighteenth birthday for him to have a British citizenship.”

The Auror’s eyes narrowed. “And he _is_ a Canadian _Auror_ , Lord Malfoy, regardless of your claims to the contrary. As _Auror_ Wordsworth was unaware of his heritage at the time he was made an Auror, my division has chosen to take the position that he and we acted in good faith based upon our knowledge at the time _and_ Auror Wordsworth’s _valid_ birth certificate.”

Lord Malfoy nearly spat his retort. “A pretty play on words, Auror Onasi, but _our_ families recognize blood and blood _alone_.”

The Auror’s jaw twitched again. “ _You_ arrested a Canadian Auror on _our_ soil and dragged him here to Britain simply because you believed you could get away with it, Lord Malfoy.” For an instant, it looked as if he would add something else, but he shook his head and clearly decided against whatever it was. Instead, he growled, “Because of your diplomatic visa, my country has no authority to return the favor, but consider this your notice that Canada will _not_ accept you on our soil again; you violated our laws of jurisdiction, you violated the Statute of Secrecy in _our_ country, and you have in your possession a confidential file concerning a Canadian Auror.” Dismissively, Auror Onasi turned back to the rest of the Wizengamot. “Likewise, we will not accept Miss Skeeter back on our soil again. I rest my case.”

The security Auror, at the Chief Warlock’s gesture, pulled Rita Skeeter to the fore. “Release the silencing spells on her,” the Chief Warlock ordered. When the spells were cancelled, the Chief Warlock inquired, “Have you anything to say in your defense, Miss Skeeter?”

Green eyes looked around the room wildly, searching for an escape, but there was none. Then she drew a breath and screeched, “I’m not the only unregistered Animagus; the two Calvin brats are Animagi and I’ve never seen them on the Registry!”

Attention swept to Harry as he rose to his feet, smirking. “That didn’t sound like much of a defense to _me_ , Miss Skeeter, merely an attempt to drag two innocents through the mud and into your _mess_.” He turned to the rest of the Wizengamot. “Unfortunately for Miss Skeeter, her _latest_ wild story is, as usual, quite wrong. The Calvins are on the Registry, though it _is_ rather…obscure.”

Skeeter shrieked in outrage. “I am not going to Azkaban alone! Arrest those two little miscreants!”

The Chief Warlock landed his gavel on his desk once more. “Order! Miss Skeeter, hold your silence or _be_ silenced!” He shifted back to Harry. “Lord Potter, pray continue.”

Harry inclined his head. “The issue dates back, Chief Warlock, to the dawn of the Animagus Registry itself. The Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Calvin at the time was Lord Leon Calvin, a friend of the then Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Alaic Moody. Now, Lord Calvin was a law-abiding wizard and after the Animagus Registry Bill was passed and made into law, he hastened at once to his friend and colleague with a peculiar request.”

Neville glanced around; the Wizengamot was curious but confused by Harry’s story, while Skeeter looked almost apoplectic that she was being ignored…Auror Onasi appeared rather relieved, making Neville’s suspicions about the Auror rise. Harry’s expression was solemn, but there was a hint of Marauderish glee underneath.

“It was with great surprise that Alaic Moody discovered that his friend wished to register the whole of the Calvin family as soon as could be.” Whispering rose at this statement and the court looked ever more intrigued. “But Lord Calvin had a reservation regarding the Registry, a concern that the information within could be misused in the future. He asked that Alaic Moody take down the information regarding the Calvin family’s traditional Animagus forms and seal the knowledge from the public eye, so that his family would not become a target or an object of curiosity as the ages marched on.

“Alaic Moody agreed to Lord Calvin’s request and so the family name was added to the Registry with the understanding that any future members of the family would be covered under the original registration and that the Animagus forms themselves would be sealed by order of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.” Harry bestowed Rita Skeeter with a fierce predator’s grin. “And so, Miss Skeeter, every member of the Calvin family born since that time has been registered from the hour of their birth.” _You lose,_ rang out, silent, but clear.

The Chief Warlock allowed the moment to hang, then turned back to Skeeter. “Have you anything _else_ to say in your defense, Miss Skeeter?”

Defeat shone in the witch’s eyes, but she was unable to admit it. “No, no, I didn’t do anything wrong…it’s all that _Squib’s_ fault…it’s all _his_ fault!”

Wordy’s voice echoed in the chamber as he pushed himself up. “I don’t remember telling you to break the law and steal my Auror file, I don’t remember telling you to use your _illegal_ Animagus form to spy on people and ruin their lives, and I _definitely_ don’t remember telling you to give my Auror file and _home address_ to a former Death Eater! In fact, I don’t even remember meeting you before, so how is it _my_ fault that you ended up here today on trial?”

Though the Wizengamot was still on the fence regarding the suspected Squib, not a single one of them wanted Rita Skeeter _or_ a former Death Eater to have access to their home address. Nor did any of them like Skeeter enough to defend her against the charges, particularly when the Canadian Ministry of Magic could still go to the ICW.

The Chief Warlock called the room to order once again and swept his gaze across the court. “We shall now vote on the matter before us. The clerk,” Dullard inclined his head, “will now accept your votes either for or against conviction.”

Neville turned his attention to the desk at his side, duly registering his vote for conviction with a quiet flick of his wand. For five minutes, silence reigned in the chamber, as the lords cast their votes and leaned back in their seats. Harry was smirking; his dislike and distaste for Rita Skeeter was well-known and well-understood…Skeeter had been a pest in Harry’s life since fourth year and that blasted Tournament. Privately, Neville wondered if Harry had known about Skeeter’s Animagus status…it _would_ explain the article Skeeter had published in the Quibbler their fifth year.

It took some minutes, but eventually the votes were tallied and the Chief Warlock received the report from Clerk Dullard. The stern Chief Warlock lifted his wand and brightened the lights once, drawing attention back to the center. “Miss Rita Skeeter, on the charges that Canada has brought before us, the Wizengamot had rendered the following verdict. On the charge of being an unregistered Animagus, guilty.”

Skeeter cried out in dismay, though it surely was not a surprise. The security Auror silenced her and bowed to the Chief Warlock.

“On the charge of violating the confidential Auror files of another country, guilty. On the charge of passing confidential Auror information to a person or entity outside of the Auror Department or Division, guilty. And on the charge of violating the Statute of Secrecy, guilty.” The Chief Warlock leaned forward in his chair. “On many occasions, Miss Skeeter, you have been granted second chances, but we cannot ignore the evidence before us. This court sentences you to life in Azkaban and orders your wand snapped. Take her away.”

The doors to the Wizengamot opened and the Aurors dragged Skeeter away, still kicking and screaming, even under the silencing spells. Neville glanced back at Wordy only to see him pale; Neville winced, Wordy was seeing what could well be _him_ before the day was out.

The constable looked up, meeting Neville’s eyes, and straightened his shoulders. No, Neville decided, no matter what, Kevin Wordsworth would face what came with _far_ more dignity than Rita Skeeter had ever possessed. And by the Squib’s side, the blonde phoenix trilled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed Rita's comeuppance...long overdue in my opinion. On the RL front, I'm still doing actual work instead of sitting around, but that may change. Monday was virtually all documentation busywork and, well, I got most of it done. *sigh* I guess I need to get better at spacing stuff out. So it goes.
> 
> Have a great week, please read, review, and pray; Happy Reading ya'll!


	6. The Myrrdin Code

Wordy swallowed hard, but forced his shoulders back and his head high. No matter what, he was going to face this like a cop, like a member of the best SRU team in Toronto. He watched as the chamber quieted down and the Chief Warlock turned to Lord Malfoy. “The floor is ceded to Lord Malfoy,” the Chief Warlock rumbled.

Lord Malfoy looked a bit ragged around the edges with the bombshell of Miss Skeeter’s trial and conviction, but he rose to his feet with smug disdain and flashing eyes. “I thank you, Chief Warlock,” he intoned solemnly. “And now, here before you all, I challenge Lord _Lestrange_ to take the Wizengamot oath! Let him prove his credentials and his right to be in this chamber!” Lord Malfoy turned to look directly at Wordy, a sneer crossing his face. “Let there be _no_ doubt that only a _full_ wizard may take their family Seat in this court!”

A wand was lifted and Lord Potter acknowledged. “So, after all this, Lord Malfoy, you still maintain that Miss Skeeter’s evidence is _reliable_?” Disbelief dripped from every syllable and Lord Potter cast a highly skeptical look at Lord Malfoy. The Wizengamot murmured agreement and equal disapproval.

Lord Malfoy flushed, but rallied. “I do, Lord Potter, but I am willing to let Lord _Lestrange_ prove me wrong.” A cunning leer as Lord Malfoy turned back to Wordy. “Or will you bow and admit what this chamber already knows…you _are_ a Squib and thus guilty of line theft and magical manipulation of the inheritance ritual!”

For an instant, silence hung, then Lord Potter sighed softly and dropped his head a touch. “Chief Warlock, permission to speak as the proxy of the Ancient and Noble House of Calvin?”

Tension built as Lord Malfoy turned to look at Lord Potter, one pale brow lifting. The Chief Warlock studied Lord Potter, then inclined his head. “Proceed, Lord Potter.”

A deep breath, then Lord Potter brought his head back up, emerald flashing. “The Ancient and Noble House of Calvin invokes the Myrrdin Code!” Shock swept the room, but Lord Potter was not finished. “Under the Myrrdin Code we admit to this chamber that Lord Malfoy…is correct. Lord _Wordsworth_ is not a full magical, but that matters not to the Myrrdin Code. _Any_ magic is enough under the Myrrdin Code for Headship to be granted and a family Seat in this court claimed!”

If chaos had reigned during Miss Skeeter’s trial, now it was utter bedlam; people were on their feet and screaming, howling outrage and threats at both Wordy _and_ Lord Potter; Lord Longbottom wasn’t spared their ire either. Wordy kept his head high, pretending that he was on escort duty with a particularly irate group of protestors to deal with.

Lord Potter didn’t wait for the room to calm either; he kept right on going. “As Goblin-friend, the House of Calvin _demands_ that Lord _Wordsworth_ take the oath _as_ a Wordsworth in the name of goblin-kind’s _vengeance_ against the House of Lestrange for their violation of the treaties between our kind and theirs!” The yowling cut off so completely that Wordy shook his head, wondering if he’d gone deaf.

Lord Potter drew a breath and spat into the sudden horrified silence, “The House of Calvin acknowledges the position of the Wizengamot, that only _full_ wizards may sit on this court and render both legislation and judgment, but it does _not_ agree. No longer will the House of Calvin sit idly by as tradition is elevated above the law and purebloods are lifted up in favor of their fellow magicals, as Squibs and Squib-borns are mistreated and viewed as little more than an inconvenience, to be ignored and cast aside, their lives ruined through no fault of their own. The House of Calvin declares that we have forgotten our own past, our own heritage. We have forgotten that once we stood _beside_ those without magic and worked _together_ to build our future.”

As Lord Potter trailed off, Lord Longbottom rose to his feet, pale, but determined. “The Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom stands with the House of Calvin.” He turned, looking directly at Wordy as he continued, “When I first met Lord Wordsworth, I judged him as a _Lestrange_. I ignored the evidence of my eyes and the tone of the letter I had received from his Account Manager.” Wordy flinched, but Lord Longbottom wasn’t done. “But Lord Wordsworth _proved_ to me that he’s _nothing_ like the Lestranges who took my parents from me. He deserves the chance to prove the same to you all, _regardless_ of whether or not he has enough magic to be a full wizard.”

Lord Potter’s voice rang out once more. “As the Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, I also concur with the House of Calvin. We judge others based on tradition, based on family history instead of _their_ history. We’ve forgotten the best parts of ourselves and allowed fear to rule our world.” He stopped, glaring at the chamber. “I did not lose my parents and many of my friends or fight a _war_ so we could bury ourselves in fear and corruption once more.”

The chamber was dead silent as Wordy pushed himself up, the two phoenixes fluttering up as well. The blonde female phoenix settled herself on Wordy’s shoulder, ignoring his askance look at her. Fawkes piped something that sounded like amusement and flew to Lord Potter, settling on the railing in front of the raven haired wizard. The Chief Warlock met Wordy’s eyes, the calm in them forced. “Lord Wordsworth, are you prepared to take your oath?”

Wordy’s nod was jerky and he didn’t trust his voice as he stepped out from his seat and made his way down the steps with every pair of eyes on him, hostility radiating from almost all of them. The constable drew in a breath as he pulled out the wand he’d gotten only the day before; Neville had, that morning, explained the oath and how to take it.

As Wordy lifted the wand for the oath, magic tickled around him, a subliminal kitten’s purr reaching his ears. Magic, _familiar_ magic, twined around his ankles and _thrummed_ a greeting as it curled around him and the wand in his right hand. In the chamber, Wordy’s gray eyes glowed a subtle violet, but it had been so long since a Wild Mage of any kind had graced the Wizengamot that the Chief Warlock did not realize what was happening.

Instead, the Chief Warlock regarded Wordy an instant longer and then began the oath. “I, Malcolm Davis, Chief Warlock, witness the calling of Kevin Wordsworth to take the Seat of the House of Wordsworth by blood, by law, and by oath.”

Wordy sucked in a breath, then answered, “I, Kevin Wordsworth, Head of the House of Wordsworth, swear to act with honor and fairness in the name of justice, law, and magic, and accept the Seat of the House of Wordsworth by blood, by law, and by oath. So have I sworn; so mote it be.”

The entire chamber stilled, watching and waiting. Wordy felt the magic around him surge, answered, weakly, by a sensation he’d felt once before, when he’d changed his family name; his own core, attempting to flare to life. The Squib grimaced at the instant wave of exhaustion and the throbbing headache. For another breath, nothing happened, and then his wand pulsed softly, lighting up with a violet-blue glow. Above them, the seat that Wordy had been sitting in flared silver, accepting the oath.

The Chief Warlock looked rather disappointed, but spoke nonetheless. “I confirm your oath is valid, Lord Wordsworth. Please take your seat.”

Wordy shook his head, stepping back a bit. “That’s it? All that fuss and now you want me to just go tamely to my seat like it never happened?” His eyes narrowed. “I don’t think so.” He turned sharply towards Neville. “Lord Longbottom? Since I’ll be going back to Toronto as soon as I can, the proxy’s still yours.”

“That is against our traditions,” Lord Malfoy spat angrily.

Wordy turned and looked the bigot in the eye. “Do I look like I care?” he demanded. “You came into _my_ workplace, arrested me, essentially, for being a Squib, and hauled me here so you could have yourself a nice little show trial before tossing me in Azkaban.” Lord Malfoy paled at Wordy’s glare.

“You called me by a name I’ve _never_ gone by and claimed that since my mother doesn’t have magic, she doesn’t matter at _all_ as far as my citizenship goes. And _now_ you think you can tell me what to do with _my_ seat and _my_ proxy?” Wordy shook his head. “I’d tell you what I think of you, but then my wife would clock me over the head.” The phoenix on his shoulder trilled a laugh.

The constable turned his back on Lord Malfoy and stalked back to the Chief Warlock. “We done here? ‘Cause I’d like to go home now.”

The Chief Warlock’s expression turned even more disapproving, not that Wordy cared. He lifted his gavel to call an end to the session, seeing as the new Lord wasn’t about to return to his seat when a yell rose from behind. “Wordy, look out!”

Wordy spun, bringing his vambraces up as a jet of light shot at him from the security Auror; Giles roared outrage, pulling his own wand as the blonde phoenix took flight with a furious screech of her own. Blue light blazed in front of the vambraces, absorbing the hit and Wordy rolled to the side, ending up behind a short wall next to the lowest stairs. The constable reached for his gun, hissing under his breath when his hand hit an empty holster. The phoenix swooped, snatching up the wand Wordy’d dropped as soon as he’d turned.

The security Auror whipped his wand to the side, sending another bolt at Giles who ducked away. Wordy growled and darted out from behind his cover, heading straight for the rogue. The rogue focused on Giles, a glazed look on his face. Wordy’s fellow Auror popped up, spotted Wordy making his move, and threw several half-wild Stunners before ducking back down as Reductor curses slammed into the wall right behind him. Before the rogue could throw any more curses, Wordy rammed him, using the same move he’d used once upon a time against Simmons to take the man down.

“Stay down!” Wordy snarled, knocking the wizard’s wand away and wrestling the man’s hands behind his back. “Hold still!” The wizard kept struggling, but it was flimsy and weak, more an annoyance than anything else. Wordy looked up at Giles and held out his free hand as he kept the rogue down with leverage and the weight of one knee. “Cuffs!”

Giles reached down and came up with a pair of runic cuffs; they flew over the distance and Wordy caught them, almost twirling them before he started cuffing the Auror. Giles moved out from behind his own cover and strode over, wand at the ready. “You got him?”

“Yeah, I got him, but I think we got an _Imperious_ here,” Wordy replied as he finished cuffing the wizard and pulled him upright. “Take a look at his face.”

The other man tilted his head, studying the cuffed Auror, then nodded. “Good call there, Wordy. Sure looks like the _Imperious_ to me.”

It was only then that Wordy took the time to look around; the Wizengamot, to the last man, was staring at him and Giles with something that looked like a mix of shock and awe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to CatsAreCool and her story “A Marauder’s Plan” (on Fanfiction.net) for the Wizengamot oath and for being most of the inspiration behind the entire scene of Wordy giving his oath.


	7. Part of the Team

Wordy was extremely grateful for Giles; his fellow Auror was playing bodyguard, refusing to let any of the British lords and ladies close to his colleague and friend. Only Harry and Neville were permitted to pass the one-man barricade as Giles worked his way out of the Wizengamot chamber, Wordy in tow. Fawkes, after the capture of the _Imperioused_ security Auror, had vanished in a ball of fire, but the other phoenix was back on Wordy’s shoulder, adding her own hisses and trills to Giles’ efforts.

The trouble was, just about everyone seemed to want to congratulate Wordy for stopping the _Imperioused_ wizard almost single-handedly and ask how he’d done it without magic. As if you needed magic to tackle a mind-controlled idiot and make an arrest. Wordy wasn’t sure if he should feel insulted or irritated for the implication that one needed magic to do anything worthwhile…maybe he’d just go with both. It took far more time than Wordy would have liked to work their way out of the near mob in the Wizengamot; Wordy exhaled in relief to see a clear corridor in front of them.

Neville cocked his head to the side. “Now I know why you wouldn’t go without your armor,” he remarked lightly. “Goblin made?”

Wordy shook his head. “Narnian made, actually,” he corrected. “And yeah, I wasn’t sure how today would go, but I learned a long time ago that you hope for the best, prepare for the worst.” He rubbed one of the vambraces idly, tracing the engraved and embroidered running lion on it.

Giles grinned from Wordy’s other side. “Team One might not have magic, Lord Longbottom, but they more than make up for it with their technology.”

Neville studied the Canadian Auror for a moment. “Call me Neville, Auror Onasi,” he requested. With a smile, he added, “Especially since you seem to be a friend of Wordy’s.”

Giles chuckled and inclined his head. “Call me Giles then. You and Lord Potter really came through in there.”

Sound came from behind the four men and Harry grimaced and interrupted the conversation. “This way,” he instructed, taking the lead. At Giles’ quizzical look, Harry added, “They’re waiting for us in my office.”

_They?_ Wordy wondered as Giles’ face cleared and the man’s jaw tilted up in a partial smirk. On Wordy’s shoulder, the phoenix gave a little trill of satisfaction. Giles turned towards Wordy. “You still have that wand?”

Wordy glanced down, then up. “Yeah. I dropped it when you yelled, but the phoenix grabbed it before anyone could step on it.” He flushed a bit as the arched brows he got. “I, uh, I tried to go for my gun.”

Giles couldn’t help but snicker at that. “I don’t think your gun would have helped; the _Imperious_ would have kept him from realizing you could kill him.”

With a shrug, Wordy replied, “Not necessarily, Giles. If I’d had my equipment, I could have gone less-lethal.”

“Less-lethal?” Neville queried.

It was Giles who answered. “Wordy means he could have switched to the gun version of a Stunner.”

Wordy grinned at his fellow Auror. “And how long did it take Roy to teach you that?”

Giles flushed bright red. “Ummmm…actually, it was Ed; he tagged along on one of our busts and went less-lethal on the gang guy.”

Wordy whistled. “Guess that explains why Sarge made Ed do all the paperwork for two weeks.” Boy had Sarge been mad at Ed for not calling in backup…and for riding along with Roy without _telling_ him.

A brighter red. “Ed dumped half of that on me, said I needed to learn how to do paperwork, too.” At the snickers and sniggers from the other three, as well as the piping laughter from the phoenix, Giles pointedly turned away, futilely trying to pretend he couldn’t hear them.

The group came out close to a cluster of office doors and Harry headed for the far door, pushing it open and leading them through a small outer office area. He stopped in front of the next door and shifted to look behind him. “Auror Wordsworth, how about you go first?”

Wordy smelled a setup, but gamely stepped forward and nudged the door open. Two steps in and he realized who was inside, who was waiting. His jaw gave way at the sight of his entire team, all of them in their armor with anxious looks that shifted to pure glee and relief as they took him in.

Ed reached him first; his normally stoic friend grabbed him a fierce hug – just like the one he’d grabbed Roy in the night the younger Lane had gone after Nick Watson. After a few seconds, the team leader let go, looking embarrassed as only a guy could, doing his best to pretend that he just had some dust in his eyes. No, he wasn’t crying, why would you think that? Wordy bit back a chuckle at his friend’s antics, but there was a corner of his heart that still hurt. They hadn’t said _anything_ that night, hadn’t done anything as he was dragged away.

“You, you’re here…how?” Wordy managed, looking around at his team. Then he noticed Alanna was missing. “Wait, where’s ‘Lanna?”

Lance chuckled, so innocent and gleeful that Wordy’s concern melted even before the teen replied. “Oh, she’s here, Uncle Wordy…or do you prefer Cousin?”

“Why mess with what works?” Wordy teased back, searching for the redhead. He hadn’t missed the ever-so-slight flinch from Sarge at Lance’s words, which at least _partially_ explained why _Sarge_ hadn’t said anything that night.

The response to his question came from the phoenix as she piped a snatch of song and, when he turned, _blurred_ and landed. Wordy’s eyes widened in shock; her hair was _bleached blonde_.

“What did you do to your hair?” he demanded without thinking, in an utterly horrified ‘why would you _do_ that’ tone.

Alanna stared at him, then started laughing hysterically. After a minute she recovered briefly, looked up at him and gasped out, “Lion’s Mane, Uncle Wordy, the _look_ on your face.” She promptly collapsed into gales of laughter again.

“We dyed it so you wouldn’t recognize her,” Lance chirped, looking smug all over again. “Aunt Jules promised to help her get her normal color back once we had you back.” As Wordy blinked at the information, the teen walked over to Neville. “Lord Longbottom,” he began, pulling a pouch off his belt, “I believe these are yours.”

Confused, Neville took the pouch and let the seven golden coins inside spill out. “I don’t understand,” he admitted, his eyes coming back up. “What’s this?”

Lance didn’t reply, at least not directly. Instead he crossed to Wordy and held out one hand. “May I have my wand back now, Uncle Wordy?”

Wordy felt his jaw drop again. The wand he’d used, the one that had looked familiar…he pulled it out from where he’d tucked it in his equipment belt and gave it back to its owner. “Your wand?” he asked weakly.

A nod. “Yeah. Took awhile to talk Mr. Ollivander into letting you try my wand, but it worked.” A wistful smile worked its way across the young man’s face. “Maybe, in another lifetime, it really _could_ have been yours.”

“Maybe so, kiddo,” Wordy allowed, ruffling Lance’s hair and grinning at the aborted yelp of protest. He looked around at his team, wondering why he didn’t feel more relieved. They’d come after him, hadn’t they? Hadn’t let him down in the end, right? But he couldn’t see how they’d really helped all that much; his salvation had come from two British Lords, Giles, and the two kids, not his teammates. The brunet constable forced the ungracious thoughts out of his head and locked the fledgling resentment away; his eyes brightened and his grin grew wider, drawing enthusiasm from his teammates that all was well again in their world.

But resentment, once born, is not so easily dismissed and an idea, once thought of, is nearly impossible to kill. The team’s unity, one of their greatest strengths, now possessed a hairline crack. And as Team One returned home, for now oblivious to the consequences of Wordy’s trial before the Wizengamot, a figure watched from the shadows, well satisfied with the beginning he had wrought.

* * * * *

“So, a group of _Muggles_ was all that was needed to ruin our plans,” a man spat at his compatriots. “What do you have to say for yourselves?”

One of them cowered and replied, “They are not just _any_ Muggles, Doctor Moffet; they are acknowledged Aurors and they have a half-blood working with them. Their lack of magic doesn’t seem to be an issue; they brought down Nick Watson a few months ago and _he_ killed five Aurors and several of their informers.”

The man at the head of the table considered that, his eyes flicking from side to side as he thought. When he spoke again, his temper was once more under control. “Perhaps a test then,” he proposed. “I shall use my connections in the Muggle world to our advantage and see that they are reduced in strength, if not removed from our path entirely.” He frowned more deeply, returning to their main issue. “We cannot use the same gambit twice; the Canadian Auror Division and the Division of Mysteries are already equipping as many Embassies as they can with Anti-Apparition and Anti-Portkey wards. I have little doubt that the trend will spread, depriving us of our prior target.”

“Another institution, Doctor?” another man ventured thoughtfully.

“Perhaps,” Dr. Moffet allowed. “I shall consider the matter and inform you all once I have decided upon a new strategy.” He leaned back in his chair. “For now, bring me every scrap of information you can find about this ‘Team One’ and their leader.”

The men bowed and departed quickly; Dr. Moffet’s quick temper meant he did not suffer their presence long once they were dismissed. Dr. Moffet, for his part, ignored his minions’ departure; he was already considering new plans for dealing with the unexpected complications to his ultimate goal.

After some time, he rose to his feet and walked out of the room, going deeper into the complex until he reached a room that was sealed from all outside interference. Inside, he inspected his greatest creation, a smile crossing his face as he walked next to the sleek machine, running one hand along its black metal flank. An Obscurus **(1)**, harnessed and bound to a Muggle helicopter that he himself had designed and built. And when it was time, when the magical world had been forced to its knees by the Muggle world, he would reveal his weapon and save them all with it. The arrogant wizards and witches would be forced to acknowledge _him_ as their savior, their leader – and the Muggles? Well, it was only what they deserved for fearing and hating magic, for denying him his due.

Moffet chuckled to himself as he reached the nose of the elegant craft. “Soon, my pet, very soon,” he promised aloud. “This ‘Team One’ may have thwarted us for now, but soon you will be free to roam and strike at those who oppressed you so.”

The Obscurus growled in response, the hydraulics hissing as the magical creature within rose to the surface.

The doctor patted the machine, his touch almost affectionate. “There, there. I know you are impatient, as am I. But we must wait for the right time, my dear. I promise that it will come.”

A louder growl came from the black metal and Moffet’s eyes twinkled in vicious glee, his mouth twisting in dark amusement. He made sure to come and visit his creation every day, ensuring that his machine never forgot who was in charge, who was in control. He stroked the craft again, his eyes dancing as he spoke solemnly, soothing the Obscurus for the nonce. The growls faded away and the doctor nodded to himself.

Doctor Charles Henry Moffet walked away from the black and white helicopter, a smug smile on his face as he debated his next move as well as his evening entertainment. Behind him, a swirl of darkness cascaded over the helicopter’s nose, followed by a wolf’s livid snarl as the Obscurus fought to leave its imprisoning metal cage. The machine rocked just a touch on its three wheels, then settled, dreaming of blood-red skies and a world awash in tears and destruction…they would pay…they would _all_ pay…

 

_~ Fin_

 

[1] An Obscurus is the manifestation of the repressed magical energy of a magical child. A magical child that fears and represses their own magic is called an Obscurial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnd cut! Thanks for hanging with me through this whirlwind trilogy and I hope you enjoyed reading it just as much as I enjoyed writing it. Now, usually, I'd announce the next story in the main storyline, but I suspect some (if not most) of you are feeling cheated that Team One hardly appeared at all in this story, only showing up at the very end when Wordy's acquittal was a _fait accompli_. Therefore we'll be kicking off a Side Story called "Wordsworth or Lestrange?" on August 3rd, 2018 and resume our regularly scheduled mainline stories at the conclusion of the Side Story.
> 
> For anyone interested, RL has settled into a routine, so I'll probably stop regaling you with my tales of woe and frustration. I'm trying to be a productive member of the team, but some days that's easier said than done, especially when we newbies aren't given any work to do. Sadly, I don't expect that to change anytime soon, but in the meantime, I will do my best to be available and keep on studying and all that good stuff.
> 
> Thank you very much for all your prayers and comments. Happy Reading and Keep the Peace!

**Author's Note:**

> We're finally _working!_ It won't be easy and I kinda wish we'd been given something a bit easier for our first project, but we shall rise to the occasion and get it done. Enjoy and have a great week all!


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